


Stockings

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kirk shows his legs.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	Stockings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lieutenant Uhura looks lovely in her standard bright red uniform. Yeoman Rand is stunning. Lieutenant Palmer looks perfectly fine, and the three of them together put Jim to shame. He can’t remember the last time he wore the minidress version of the active-duty uniform. He had enough time to synthesize an appropriate gold one, but not enough forethought to synthesize sheer hose. His legs are cold. He thinks they’re probably strangely pale compared to his face and hands. But it’s much too late now—the ceremony’s over, and the entire landing party heads out of the elaborate hall to the designated transporter spot just beyond the gardens. The planet’s atmosphere is relatively similar to Earth, but it’s dark out, and the breeze is an unpleasant sensation against his bare skin. He would’ve much preferred his pants, but apparently it’s disrespectful to fully conceal one’s legs on Mrennenimus III. 

His only solace is that none of his officers have teased him for the unusual attire, though he’s sure they will once they’re out of earshot. There’s nothing inherently embarrassing about the miniskirt, except that this is likely the first time any of them will have seen his pasty legs. Uhura did years ago, back when Jim was younger and wilder. And she was on the away team to Mrennenimus II, where it was considered rude to conceal one’s shoulders, but Jim’s fairly confident about that particular area of his body. He’s already made several notes to work out more once he’s back aboard the Enterprise—realistically, he should be getting _all_ of his body in decent shape, as the Mrennenimus system seems intent on slowly getting more naked.

They reach the bed of purple flowers and stand together beyond it, Uhura waiting patiently and Palmer and Rand wistfully eyeing the hall they emerged from. The evening was strange but fascinating. Jim had never seen finger puppet ballet before.

Jim tells his communicator, “Four to beam up.” The field fades out around them.

They reform on the transporter pad, where Scotty’s still grinning just as widely as he was when Jim left. Jim can only be grateful that Bones hasn’t popped by to take a picture.

Spock’s waiting, but his expression is no different than it would be if Jim were wearing his usual uniform. Or his dress uniform. Or a large rabbit suit. There’s something to be said for that comforting predictability. Jim greets, “Gentleman,” and steps off the platform. The other three make their way off, presumably to their quarters—it’s well after alpha shift. Jim nods curtly and walks out into the hall, not at all surprised when Spock falls into line beside him.

Spock says absolutely nothing about anything, doesn’t even ask about the brand-new alien culture they just immersed themselves in, which is for the best, as Jim couldn’t describe it anyway. He’s still not sure what _did_ happen between six and seven o’clock standard time, other than that it was bright and tickled.

As Spock mentions no other destination, Jim heads for his own quarters. He needs to change immediately, preferably into pajamas at this point—he feels like the waist of his dress is cinched too tight. They reach Jim’s door, and he pauses just long enough to glance at Spock, but Spock’s stoic silence remains impenetrable. Jim lets himself inside, and Spock follows him in.

As soon as the door slides shut, Spock’s grabbed Jim’s wrist and is spinning him around, tossing him back against the wall—Jim ‘oomph’s in surprise and almost dodges out of sheer instinct. Then his brain catches up to his body, realizing that _Spock’s_ the one who’s descending on him, flattening into him and shoving one firm thigh between his legs. Spock’s hands land on Jim’s hips, fingertips pressing into Jim’s bare skin, and Jim prickles and _moans_ from the immediate contact. The rush of their lingering meld is sudden and torrential—Jim can feel Spock’s _passion_ surging into him. He’s abruptly aware that Spock’s been waiting for this ever since Jim first changed into the dress this morning, and he walked on the bridge with his long legs exposed, so much more _skin_ than Spock’s used to. Jim thought he looked ridiculous, the proportions all wrong for his frame, but Spock was actively salivating. It’s been torture, waiting for Jim to come back. 

Spock lifts the skirt higher and grinds against Jim’s body, ducking in to capture Jim’s mouth. Jim surrenders to the kiss, and for one fleeting moment, he just enjoys the taste of his _t’hy’la_ ’s tongue.

Then he pushes Spock back, already breathless and hard. He’s immediately warmed up. But Spock always does that to him.

Spock starts, “Captain, I...”

“ _Pon farr_ ,” Jim concludes, because maybe his legs _are_ great, but they’re not _that_ great. “You’re taking the week off, Commander.”

Spock looks like he’s about to protest. But then his eyes dip down Jim’s body, straying along the far-too-short-hem of his skirt, and Spock swallows. He quietly murmurs, “Yes, Captain.”

Then he’s on Jim again, and for once, Jim’s clothes actually stay on for the first round, though they’re as torn up as usual by the end.


End file.
